


ease my mind with a little conversation

by agrestenoir



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Journalism, Romance, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 06:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17177618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agrestenoir/pseuds/agrestenoir
Summary: Alya quits her job and meets the love of her life. Everything falls into place from there.(Spoiler: It’s a love story. It’s always a love story.)





	ease my mind with a little conversation

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for the wonderful Bec (@theyrejustbehindtheveil on tumblr) for ML Secret Santa 2018. Happy holidays and hope you enjoy this!

The morning Alya meets the love of her life, she quits her job. 

No matter how she spins the story, it always starts the same way: how she throws her badge at her supervisor, red-rimmed eyes burning behind her glossy shame, and thrusts a story chalk full of red ink in front of him.

“You wouldn’t know good writing if it hit you in the face,” she tells her supervisor once he’s said his piece. 

He merely blows out a long breath, runs a hand though his salt-and-pepper hair, and shakes his head. “You can say all you want, kid, but it won’t change my mind. Writers like you come and go; you aren’t worth holding onto.” 

Alya holds her tongue, but she has many things she wants to say. The choice was not made lightly. It’s a product of long, sleepless nights and bone-aching exhaustion, when she’s hovering between sleep and death as she pours over stories and hours of research. It’s what blossoms when she realizes that writing doesn’t give her the same thrill as before, and her passion for journalism has withered away into nothingness. 

“Then I guess I’m done here,” she tells her supervisor, lips pressed into a thin line, and walks away. 

There’s a few moments spared to grab her things from her desk, even though it’s little to begin with, before she stalks towards the exit without a second glance back. Alya walks down the sidewalk with a bag of her supplies at her side, phone clenched tight in her hand as she angrily types away, paragraphs and paragraphs of anger heading to Nino’s inbox for review.

It’s already buzzing with responses, and she’s overcome to be paying attention to what’s happening in front of her when suddenly a strong arm wraps around her waist and she’s _airborne_. Wind whipping her hair around her, bag and phone dropped a way back, Alya grabs onto the first solid thing she finds and spends the next few minutes screaming as she’s taken across rooftops and dropped next to a chimney. 

“”W-What the _fuck_ was that?” she cries out, spinning on her heel to see just who had grabbed and dashed with her. The world is still spinning, and through her disorientation, she can make out a red and black-spotted costume. 

 _Ladybug_ , her mind whispers, and Alya’s words turn to ash in her mouth. 

 _Holy shit_. 

The superhero in front of her, part of the famed duo that protects all of Paris from the wrath of Hawkmoth and his army of akumas, stands with eyes blown wide and a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sorry!” the heroine apologizes, hands clasped over her yo-yo in front of her. “I didn’t mean to scare you. The akuma was coming, and I had to get you out of the way in time!” 

Alya pauses and casts a glance over her shoulder, watching the akuma rampage down the road to wreck havoc on more unsuspecting civilians. It’s some demented thing, twisted into sharp angles and pulsing neon blue and green—it looks like something straight off the cover of Nino’s dubstep albums.

She turns back to Ladybug, eyes wide as the situation finally registers. “You saved my life,” she murmurs softly, gaze never leaving the superhero in front of her. 

Ladybug—and _god,_ is she beautiful—flashes her a small smile, blue eyes softening. “I just… did what I had to.” 

“Ladybug!” It’s Chat Noir, battling the akuma. “If you could hurry up, that would be _fucking_ wonderful!” 

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Ladybug puts a hand on Alya’s shoulder to gather her attention. “Don’t go anywhere,” she tells her and launches her yo-yo at the building across the street. “You should be safe up here.”

“O-Okay, sure,” Alya stammers as Ladybug tugs on her string and goes flying through the crisp autumn air. She watches her go, locked on the red-spotted heroine disappearing on the crest of a breeze, until she slips between the buildings and across a rooftop, fading from her sight. Too overcome, she drops to her haunches and buries her burning cheeks in her hands, and screams into them until a stray thought hits.

 

Alya stops suddenly, popping back up. “How the fuck would I even _try_ to get down from here?” she asks no one in particular, even though she doesn’t expect an answer.

(Inside though, her heart skips a beat. _God_ , she thinks, _Ladybug is even better up close_.)

  

*

 

“I think,” Ladybug tells her one day a few weeks later as they swing onto a deserted rooftop. “That we need to stop meeting like this.” Alya vaguely recognizes it as the top of the Bourgeois hotel, and a part of her shudders that she’s making a pass on the love of her life in Chloe’s territory.

Still, she can’t help but agree with Ladybug. In the weeks after the first rescue attempt, the superhero has swooped in and saved her for a grand total of seven times. Each is from her own hubris as she tries to chronicle the akuma battles for her freelance blog, _The Ladyblog_ , a project Alya tossed together one night after three cups of coffee and desperation to find an outlet from the anxiety that job hunting brings.

“Hey.” Alya nudges the heroine with her elbow, keeping a tight grasp on her phone this time. The last rescue attempt had left her scouring the streets of Paris well into the evening before she’d finally come across the device, albeit a little scuffed after a few hours playing garnish on a busy sidewalk. “You’re the one who picks the place. I just show up.” 

“…Maybe you should pick the place next time?” 

Alya stills as the words register. “Excuse me?” She glances up at the heroine with wild hysteria and confusion that tinges the edges of her vision. 

A light blush dusted the apples of Ladybug’s cheeks. “It doesn’t have to be a rooftop every time, you know?” 

Alya gapes at her, flabbergasted. It’s taking her a while to catch up. “Are you…” She still can’t find what she wants to say. 

Twisting the string of her yo-yo around her fingers, Ladybug shifts on her feet, refusing to meet Alya’s probing stare. “I just… wanted to let—” 

“Are you asking me out on a date?” 

Ladybug glances up at her then, her eyes—the most beautiful god damn things she’s ever seen—widen in surprise. “I… I wasn’t going for that,” she tells her, and just before the bubble bursts in her chest, Ladybug smiles and _oh_. “But I won’t say no if you’re asking.” 

To be fair, Alya isn’t sure what overcame her in that moment, but she’s sure glad it did. With shaky fingers, she flips her camera app open and snaps a picture of Ladybug’s certain but flustered face and hands it to her. “Could I have your number?” she basically screams. 

Ladybug quirks a half-smile at her antics but accepts the device anyways. “You know you can’t give this to anyone,” she cautions as she thumbs in her contact information. “I don’t have to lecture you about secret identities and everything, right?” 

The last ten years in Paris haven’t been easy on anyone, Alya knows this, and it’s probably been even harder on Ladybug and Chat Noir as they fight to take down Hawkmoth and his various akumas. Protecting the city seems like a hard enough job without having to worry about protecting your secret identity—so is Alya to mess with that? But then again, watching Ladybug hand her phone back with that shaky but sturdy smile of hers, Alya knows that there’s always a lingering fear. 

(Alya hopes that someday she’ll be someone that Ladybug can trust completely.) 

“Of course,” she says to her. “You don’t have to worry about that with me.”

“I’m glad.” Ladybug shoots her yo-yo across the street, anchoring it on a nearby chimney. She glances over her shoulder as she prepares to take her leave, meeting Alya’s eyes with a soft expression. “This city needs more people like you, Alya Cesaire.” 

Alya laughs. “You don’t even know me yet, Ladybug. That’s what the first date is for.” 

“There’s a lot you can tell about the people you rescue,” Ladybug tells her. “How they dress, the way they act, if they thank you.” She shrugs helplessly. “I’ve been saving you from running _towards_ danger for the last month, so I’ve picked up a few things along the way.” 

Alya realizes with a blush just how long Ladybug’s been watching her. It doesn’t really matter, she decides, because she’s been doing the same thing for just as long.

 “Thanks again,” Alya murmurs.

 “No problem. Just let me know a date and time, and I’ll be there.” 

“You got it.” 

“Oh, and Alya?” Ladybug grabs the string of her yo-yo with both hands, her eyes twinkling and expression teasing. “Good luck with the _Ladyblog_. You’ve got some good stuff so far.” 

 _Oh my god_ , Alya thinks as shock settles in. _Ladybug found my blog_.

With a last smile, the heroine flashes her a mock salute and jumps off the rooftop, swinging through the city and towards the danger she keeps saving Alya from. In the distance, Alya can hear the screams of panicked civilians and a furious akuma, no doubt resulting from Chat Noir’s game of cat-and-mouse, but instead of letting fear overtake her, a warmth blossoms in the pit of her stomach. 

Even when the world was threatened, Ladybug still decided to spend a few moments in hers. 

Just to be sure that the hero isn’t dragging her along, Alya double-checks her phone, and sure enough, a new contact has been added. Underneath the picture of Ladybug, cheeks dusted pink and eyes so blue they’re glowing, there’s digits and a name.

The adrenaline and surprise still hasn’t faded by the time Alya reaches the door to the rooftop access, still pondering just what the fuck had happened to her. Somehow, in the span of ten minutes, she’d gotten a date with the most wanted woman in Paris, learned that the hero she blogs about _knows_ she blogs about her and actually _enjoys_ it (like what the fuck???), and now knows that Ladybug’s been watching her for quite some time.  

 _Is this really my life_? Alya wonders but is too afraid to actually ask in case it might actually be some akuma-induced falsity. 

When she gets home, Alya throws caution to the wind and decides to text Ladybug: _Saturday at 7 PM at Carmine? It’s a little place down Suffren Ave._

And just like a dream, but… _not,_ her phone pings with a response: _Can’t wait! I’ll be the one in red._

And… that concludes the strangest morning of Alya’s entire life (but one she wouldn’t trade for _anything_.)

  

*

 

Their first date is (not surprisingly) on the rooftop of the Carmine Café with a plate of fries and two glasses of wine after Ladybug’s finished her patrol. Like she promised, Ladybug wears her usual red and black-spotted costume, the material glinting under the dim glow of the streetlights, while Alya is bundled in a burnt red poncho and dark wash jeans. The whole thing reeks of comfort and familiarity, and even though she’s one to splurge for extravagant at a time of first impressions, Alya can’t find it in herself to be disappointed. 

“You look nice,” she tells Ladybug over the rim of her glass. 

“For post-patrol, this is as good as you’ll get,” Ladybug says with a sharp smile. Her pinks are a deep pink, but Alya doesn’t know if it’s from _her,_ the wine, or the cold (she hopes it’s the former because she knows her own are burning bright right now). “I promise I’ll clean up better next time though.” 

“Is there going to be a next time then?” Alya asks. 

Ladybug pauses, lips open over the beginning of a respond, but the words seem to get lost as she fumbles to find her thoughts. “I…” She shakes her head. “I can’t get anything past you, can I?”

 Alya shrugs helplessly. “I’m an investigative journalist. This is what you signed up for.”

 “No refunds?” Ladybug nudges her calf with the tip of her foot, a languid smile teasing the corners of her lips. 

“No returns,” Alya assures her. “You buy what you see.” 

“Lucky I like what I see then.”

 “…Yeah?” Alya asks, somewhat hesitantly. Suddenly, she can’t make sense of her own thoughts, like she came to midway through, and now has to untangle the beginning and end in the mess of things. 

But Ladybug lays all her fears to rest when she simply smiles again, leans her head back against the brick chimney, and says with all the cool confidence in the world, “Yes.” 

Alya is a goner from then on.

 

*

  

Dating a superhero is a whirlwind. 

Their dates consist of late-night picnics atop Saint Ambroise Church or rushed breakfast before Alya goes in for job interviews that never turn out the way she wants. It’s been weeks since she quit the paper, and she’s surviving on what little freelance work she can find, but on the bright side, the _Ladybug_ is flourishing with thousands of followers, hundreds subscribing more and more each day. A lot of that she can contribute to the fact that her girlfriend is more than willing to give her the scoop when she needs it, and Chat Noir is a camera whore, always ready for an impromptu photoshoot when Alya asks. 

In all and all, her professional world isn’t too miserable. Her girlfriend definitely makes things easier. 

But there’s certainly drawbacks that she encounters, like a secret identity or two. With the mask in place, their conversations never contain anything personal unless it’s Alya’s story. The most she can manage to get from Ladybug is that she’s a designer for some fashion company, can’t cook to save her life, and her favorite artist is Jagged Stone. It’s not enough to build a stable relationship on, but laying the groundwork is all that really matters right now. 

Even though she wants to know more, hell even her girlfriend’s first name would make her world, Alya knows what she signed up for—has since the very first moment they met. She wouldn’t have it any other way because, at the end of the day, Alya is the one who gets to kiss her goodnight, make those blue eyes shine like starlight, and pull that _fucking_ smile out of her that melts her insides. Ladybug is the best thing to happen to her in a long time, and she doesn’t want that to change. 

“You look happy,” Mylene tells her one night over drinks, snuggled against her husband Ivan’s side. “Did you find a new job?” 

“Not yet,” Alya says morosely, but her mind keeps flickering to Ladybug. It’s another drawback because she can’t tell anyone about her beautiful and amazing girlfriend, but keeping things between themselves is one of the conditions that dating a superhero entails. “All I can do is keep looking though.” 

Beside her, Nino hums at her words. “I just find it really surprising that no one’s hired you yet. I mean the _Ladyblog_ alone should be enough to convince anyone if you asked me.” 

“Yeah,” Mylene agrees, eyes bright. “That thing’s a _hit_ , Al. Everyone talks about it.”

“It’s not something that’s on my resume,” she tells them. Because why would she put a blog on a resume? Professionalism is what sells in the business world, right?

Nino tugs on her elbow and fixes her with earnest eyes. “Al, that thing is a work of art.” And _of course_ , Alya knows that because she spends more time making those posts perfect, and it probably has more passion put into it than her last ten projects combined. “You’ve gotta tell people about it. It’s something you should be fucking proud of.” 

Alya tosses back her drink, something to reeks of bourbon and citrus, and tries to think about anything else. 

It’s later that night, when dawn is closer than dusk, and Ladybug knocks gently on the window of her apartment, crouching low in the shadows of her balcony. Alya is sitting on the couch, laptop in hand, as she stares at her revised resume.

“Nice of you to drop by,” Alya greets as she slides the lock open for her girlfriend to swing into the living room. By now, it’s been two months since they started seeing each other, and this routine has become habit. “Patrol go late?”

“We have an akuma down Sixth,” is the only reply Ladybug offers. She joins Alya on the couch, snuggling against the fleece blanket and steals a sip from the wine glass on the coffee table. “What’cha working on?” 

“Resume.”

Ladybug hums and glances over Alya’s shoulder at the computer screen. “Looks fancy.” 

Alya rolls her eyes. “Well there’s not a whole lot to go on. Unemployed for two months has a certain ring to it, you know?” There’s a question she didn’t know she wanted to ask until it rolls off her tongue. “Is it okay to add the _Ladyblog_ to this?” 

Ladybug quirks an eyebrow high as if the question took her off guard. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, if I add my blog about you to this, will you be upset?” 

“Why would I?” Ladybug crosses her legs and rearranges herself on the couch, pulling the blanket around her own shoulders until her and Alya are pressed together. “That blog is a work of art. I told you this already. You should be really proud of it.” 

“Second time I’ve heard that tonight actually,” Alya murmurs under her breath, thumb tapping the space bar absently. 

Ladybug still doesn’t understand. “Then what’s the matter?” 

It gives Alya pause because the idea obviously hasn’t crossed Ladybug’s mind, and she knows she should be happy. But a part of her wonders if it’s like the stuff with the secret identity—something that the hero refuses to talk about. With a heavy sigh, she closes her laptop and shoves it onto the coffee table, and instead reaches to intertwine her fingers with Ladybug’s. 

“I just… I don’t want you to think that I’m using you for a story,” Alya tells her with an earnest expression, eyes fervent and pleading. “You mean _so much_ to me, and I don’t wanna ruin that.”

Ladybug stills for a moment, just the span of a single heartbeat, and then she’s pulling away to look at Alya just a little bit harder, a little bit longer. At first, Alya is scared she’s made a mistake, crossed a line she can’t come back from, but the other girl has a difference of opinion. With reflexes honed from many years on the battlefield, quick and deft hands reach up to cradle her face and bring her closer.

“If you think I don’t trust you after all this time,” Ladybug says, “then let me remind you of a few things.”

Her mouth fall open, forming an _oh!_ of surprise when Ladybug rushes towards her and kisses her—fiercely and fully—and it’s like a firecracker has burst under her skin. Tongue tracing the seam of Alya’s lips, she licks her way inside, tasting pinot noir on her teeth, and Alya sinks into it. She buries a hand in the dark locks, tugging Ladybug closer, until they’re pressed together, body to body, with no room left to breathe.

“W-What was that?” Alya asks, voice low and raspy.

“Don’t you get it yet?” Ladybug, breathing heavily, shoulders heaving, leans forward and presses their foreheads together. “I trust you, Alya Cesaire, inexplicably so.”

And then they’re kissing again, and Alya manages a breathless, “L-Ladybug—”

Ladybug’s hands tighten against Alya’s back and she pauses for a brief moment to collect her thoughts, but then she’s kisses along her jawline and murmurs a soft, “Marinette.”

“Huh?” Alya can’t keep up.

“My name,” she continues, “is Marinette.” 

It’s quiet as Alya takes this all in. “Marinette,” she says, seeing how the name fits on the tip of her tongue. Her hands roam over the nape of Ladybug’s neck, brushing up to thread through her dark hair, taking in the sight of her red lips and pink cheeks, the bright eyes and pale skin, and tries to associate it all with _Marinette_. 

“Are you sure?” Alya eventually asks. 

And Marinette stares at her for a while, brushes Alya’s red-tinged curls back behind her ear, and then simply cocks her head to the side and smiles. “Yes,” she says, and that’s all it is. 

(Even if it’s only been two months, Alya swears she’s in love. And she knows, if everyone else knew Ladybug like she did, they’d be in love too.)

 

*

  

“Well, Ms. Cesaire,” the man on the other side of the desk starts, eyes flickering over her resume once more, “I think I’ve seen everything I need to.” 

Alya’s heart sinks to the pit of her stomach. “Oh.” It’s only been three minutes since she walked into his office, only a simple greeting and meaningless chatter passing between them as he glanced over her application. 

“So when can you start?” he asks.

The question catches her off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Your work speaks for itself.” He tosses her resume across the desk and sits back in his chair, typing a few keystrokes into his computer, and then turns the screen towards her. The homepage of the _Ladyblog_ stares back at her, all bright and red and brilliant. “Over a million hits, hundreds of thousands of followers, and your pieces are… extraordinary honestly.” He glances at her with a quirked smile. “Some of the pictures and stories are quite… eccentric, but I suppose that’s what you get when you’ve got a journalist willing to take the leap to get a story.” 

“I love what I do, sir,” she says, “And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I can still do it.”

“And that’s the kind of expertise I want working here,” the editor says and nods. “So when can you start, Ms. Cesaire?” 

Alya lets a broad smile stretch across her face, thanking the stars and fate and her wonderful, wonderful girlfriend. “As soon as possible,” she says, and it’s the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

 

 

*

  

The morning after she gets her job, Alya finds the love of her life sitting on a barstool in her kitchen, munching on leftover Chinese food from a carton and wearing one of the oversized night shirt Alya won at a carnival for her. 

Marinette’s sweat-tangled curls are piled into a messy bun, eyes half-lidded with the ghost of sleep, and she looks as beautiful as the first time Alya ever saw her. She smiles when Alya comes out of the bedroom, all soft and vulnerable, as she looks up at her girlfriend sans mask. 

“Morning,” Alya says softly and presses a kiss to her collarbone. “I think you forgot a few pieces of clothing.” 

“The mask?” 

“The mask.” 

Marinette seems to ponder the concept for a while and shrugs. “Well, I figure it’s time you know who you’re coming home with at the end of the night. I think that’s a must for any relationship, you know?” 

And Alya’s shoulders shake with the sound of her laughter, which echoes on and on with Marinette’s, and she tries to imagine a world without this wonderful, beautiful girl in her arms.

 It’s impossible, she realizes. Absolutely impossible.


End file.
